Mister Fantasy
by pineapplefan
Summary: There were times when Sam felt like a burden. To Dean, he was anything but. Teenchesters.
1. Chapter 1

Sam pushed the door to the motel room open, using much more strength than he should have needed. He was grateful to get out of the cold winter air. It had been a long day. Heck, it had been a long week. He was exhausted.

Dean was already back from school, camped out on his dad's bed with various snacks from the vending machine surrounding him. He was watching reruns of _The Three Stooges _on the out-dated television set. "Hey kid," he acknowledged when Sam stepped in the room.

"Hey," Sam replied unenthusiastically as he dropped his book bag and shrugged off his winter coat. He collapsed face-down onto his own bed, kicking his shoes off to the floor.

"Long day?" Dean asked, snorting softly at his brother's dramatics.

Sam grunted in affirmation. "Think I need a nap," he said, muffling a yawn into the pillow.

"Aren't you a little old for naps, Sammy?"

"Never," Sam responded. "And it's Sam." He rolled over onto his side so he was facing his brother. "Where's Dad?"

Dean, who was suddenly very immersed in the TV, grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand and tossed it over to Sam. He didn't turn his gaze away from the screen, understandably entertained by the antics of Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Sam blinked a couple of times to focus his eyes so he could read his father's messy scrawl.

_Boys,_

_New lead on the Changeling. Back before dinner._

_Dad_

Sam tossed the note aside and yawned again. He really was exhausted. He'd had two major tests that week - one in math and the other in history - and considering they'd only been in Wisconsin for three weeks, he hadn't exactly been prepared for the material. That called for a lot of late-night studying… on top of all the training John had put the boys through.

But that was over now. Now it was winter break, and Sam was looking forward to the holidays. John had even promised that they were going to stay put for once, here in Madison, all the way through New Year's. Sam knew better than to hold his breath, though. Even at twelve, he was bright enough to know that John wasn't the best at keeping promises.

"You goin' out with Michelle tonight?" Sam asked his brother sleepily.

"Not tonight," Dean answered with a sigh. "It's her mom's birthday, so she's doing family stuff."

Michelle was the girl Dean had been spending the majority of his time with these days. Sam liked her enough. She was pretty - Dean would settle for nothing less - but most importantly, she made Dean happy.

Naturally, Sam would much rather Dean spend time with _him, _but he was glad that his brother had found someone outside of their screwed-to-hell family.

Now that Dean was old enough to hunt, he never seemed to have the time to do normal, teenage-boy things. He was always researching or loading weapons or recovering from a hunt… on top of all the other responsibilities that came with being Dean Winchester. Like keeping on top of school work and looking after his little brother.

Of course, Dean never complained. He was proud to be a Hunter, proud to be a big brother, and proud of his family. But even Dean Winchester deserved a break every once in a while. And Michelle provided that for him.

Even though Sam would have liked nothing better than to take nap, he also didn't want to pass up an increasingly rare opportunity to spend time with Dean. He saw very little of his brother these days.

So he flipped over onto his back, and he and Dean watched _The Three Stooges _together.

xxx

Sam woke later to the sound of the motel door being unlocked. He opened one eye sleepily, disoriented. It was dark now. 7:00 pm. He must've fallen asleep after all.

Sam sat up, rubbing a tired hand over his face, just as Dean stepped in the door. He was holding a pizza box in his hands.

"Well, look who's back from the dead," Dean quipped, a smirk on his face. He set the pizza down on the table of the kitchenette. "You hungry?"

Sam shrugged, realizing that he really didn't have much of an appetite. "Where's Dad?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not back yet," Dean answered simply. He opened the box to the pizza and started digging in. Sam cringed when the meat lovers' aroma reached his nostrils.

"Did he call?" Sam asked, kicking off the covers. He swung his legs over the bed.

Dean didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy making yummy noises to his slice of pizza as he chewed.

"Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes at his brother. "Did Dad call?"

"Hmmm?" Dean said distractedly, his mouth full. "Oh, no, he didn't."

"Do you think he's okay?" Sam wasn't quite able to hide the worry in his voice.

"Of course he's okay, Sam," Dean said confidently. "It's Dad." He nodded at the pizza. "Come eat."

Sam heaved a sigh and lifted his tired bones from the bed. He dragged himself across the room and sat heavily in a kitchen chair.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "You all right there, Samantha? You're movin' around like a little ol' granny."

"I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired from training, I guess." His muscles were achy and sore - something he attributed to the five miles John had made him run yesterday. Not to mention all the pushups he'd done. He'd done so many that he'd lost count.

"You did work hard," Dean agreed. "I better watch out. Before I know it, you'll be keepin' up with me."

Sam smirked. "Keeping up? Pretty soon I'll be _beating_ your ass."

Dean grinned. "Dream on, Sammy."

xxx

A few hours later, Sam was pulled from sleep again. But this time, it wasn't immediately evident what woke him. Dean was snoring softly next to him, and even though it was dark, Sam could tell that John's bed was still made up. He hadn't come back yet.

It was then that Sam realized he felt very hot under the covers. Overwhelmingly hot. His pajamas were drenched in sweat. He kicked the blankets off his body in an attempt to get cool. Then he pushed himself up into the sitting position, inwardly groaning when his stomach started doing somersaults. He suddenly regretted the two slices of pizza he'd forced himself to eat earlier.

No wonder he'd woken up. He was sick.

Really sick.

Sam swallowed hard. Panic was starting to come over him, the way it always did when his insides were threatening to turn themselves inside out. He threw an arm over his middle, trying to keep his nausea at bay.

"Dean," he gulped out. "Dean, wake up."

His brother stirred beside him, alert even when he was sleeping. "Sam?" He reached an arm out to turn on the nightstand lamp. "What's the matter?" He rubbed a tired hand over his face, blinking as he took in the sight of the sick boy beside him.

"Don't feel good…" Sam mumbled. He leaned back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut. The room had started to spin. "M'stomach…"

Dean was on his feet in a flash, hearing the urgency in his brother's voice.

Sam sensed Dean hurry around to his side of the bed and then he felt something heavy being placed in his lap. He opened his eyes to see the motel's metal trash bin in front of him, grateful that Dean could detect when he was about to blow chunks.

"It's all right, Sam," Dean soothed. He positioned himself next to his ailing brother, one arm behind his back, the other pressed against Sam's chest to keep him from pitching forward. Again, Sam was grateful. He felt impossibly weak, but he could always count on Dean to support him, in the most literal sense of the word.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He hated throwing up. Hated it so much that he always worked himself up, making it a hundred times worse than it needed to be. He could feel himself starting to shake in anticipation.

"Easy, kid." Dean's voice was gentle, knowing very well about his brother's minor emetophobia. "Just breathe. Breathe through it."

Sam tried to put it off as long as he could, he really did. But before long, he felt bile rising in his esophagus, and he moaned lowly. He hunched over the bin, feeling Dean's grip on him tighten. He vomited twice. Harsh, violent, gags that seemed to come all the way from his toe nails. Tears leaked from his eyes as a result of the exertion.

Beside him, Dean was the picture of calm, pushing Sam's sweaty hair out of his eyes and speaking in soft tones. "You finished?" he asked when Sam had managed to stop gagging. "For now, at least?"

Sam swallowed, considering. "I think so," he croaked, spitting one last time into the bin. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was crying. He felt utterly miserable; his mouth was coated with bile and a stale after-taste of meat lovers pizza lingered on his breath.

"All right, easy does it," Dean said lightly, taking the bin away from Sam's trembling hands. "You're okay." Dean pressed the back of his hand to Sam's forehead, cursing at the heat radiating off of his brother.

Even though Sam just wanted to stay in bed and hide under the covers from shame and embarrassment, Dean was able to convince him to move into the bathroom. There, they were able to get him cooled off a bit. Dean pulled the sweat-soaked shirt over Sam's head and knelt down in front of him. He wiped him down with a damp cloth.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Dean asked. He had that same smirk he always wore plastered to his face.

It felt like heaven. "Mmhmm," Sam agreed, eyes drooping and shoulders sagging. "Sorry for getting you up, Dean."

"Don't be stupid, Sam. I was hardly asleep anyway."

Sam bit down on his lip. "You worried about Dad?" he asked, his voice small. Because if Dean was worried, he should be too.

Dean let out a deep breath. "I'm gettin' there," he admitted. "But right now I'm only worried about you." He ruffled Sam's hair and stood up to fetch him a glass of water.  
><em><br>_Sam only wished he could be half as good to Dean as Dean was to him.

xxx

"I thought I'd escaped this," Sam moaned into the bin after round two had run its course. It was no secret that a stomach bug had been going around - it was that time of year - and Sam had been very thorough with washing his hands to avoid this very situation. But sometimes even the biggest germaphobes can't hide from gastralgia.

He was sitting on the toilet, pants dropped around his ankles, bin on his lap. Because round two had come with a vengeance, this time adding diarrhea to the mix. And hadn't that been fun?

Dean had stayed with him through the entire ordeal, despite Sam's desperate pleas between gags. _Go away, Dean. I don__'__t want you to see. Please, just go._

"Humiliated" was an understatement.

Because vomiting in front of his big brother was one thing, but having distressed bowel movements in front of him was essentially the end of the world.

"Sam, you can barely hold yourself upright," Dean had reasoned. "So why don't you save your breath, because I ain't goin' anywhere."

And as it turned out, Sam was grateful Dean stayed. Because he felt sicker than he'd ever felt, and he needed his rock.

Dean took the bin from Sam's lap and promptly rinsed it out in the sink. "Well, good news, little bro. I think the worst of it is over, don't you?"

"God, I hope so." Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to survive another round of this torture.

Dean knelt down in front of him, and went through the same old routine: hand on his forehead, pushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks… He smiled sadly at his miserable brother. "How's a bath sound?"

Sam grinned. An authentic, genuine, toothy grin. Because sometimes he swore Dean could read his mind. "A bath sounds amazing."

xxx

After helping Sam get settled into the bath, Dean left the room, giving his brother some much needed privacy. Sam had practically no dignity to hold onto after tonight, and so-help-him he was going to bathe himself if it was the last thing he did.

That was, of course, after agreeing to holler to Dean if he needed anything.

Gosh, sitting in that tub felt _good_. The Winchesters rarely took baths. Showers were their go-to because they were quicker and easier. But Sam realized he'd been missing out, because this bath was glorious.

He sat there for what seemed like ages, letting the warm water soothe his aching body. He only got out when the temperature became tepid and his teeth started to chatter.

He pulled the plug in the drain and then lifted himself from the tub with shaky arms. He still felt weak and dizzy, but he was determined to make it back to bed on his own. He sat down on the lid of the toilet and dried himself off before pulling on the fresh sweats Dean had laid out for him on the counter.

Once dressed, he sat on the toilet a little while longer, trying to get a grip on how he felt. His stomach still ached and he had the beginnings of a headache - probably due to dehydration - but he concluded he felt better than when he'd woken up. And that was a step in the right direction.

When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, it was nearing 3:00 am. He was looking forward to simply collapsing into his bed and going back to sleep. But something stopped him.

John had returned.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. Dean was standing in front of him, arms folded, posture tense and foreboding.

Sam could smell the whiskey on his dad all the way from across the room.

As if this night couldn't get any worse.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

John Winchester was not a drunk.

Not usually.

That's not to say he didn't drink. Because he did.

You couldn't be of age, living the life he did, and not nurse a bottle every once in a while.

But this… coming home at three in the morning - smelling like whiskey - after _promising_ he'd be back before dinner… this was not a typical John Winchester move. And seeing his dad this boozed up was something Dean could have done without. Especially tonight.

Tonight, when his kid brother was sicker than a dog.

Dean could feel anger pumping through his veins and he had to take a few deep breaths to keep from kicking the wooden kitchen chair in front of him. John wasn't late because he ran into some trouble on the hunt. No, John was late because he decided to go on an all-night bender.

"Dad, what the hell were you thinkin'?" Dean asked finally, when he'd calmed down enough to speak. "Did it ever occur to you to pick up the damn phone?"

John dropped his arms so they were sprawled out on the table. "M'sorry," he slurred, hanging his head. And Dean was shocked when a couple of tear drops fell from his eyes and splattered onto the surface.

Dean's heart started to beat rapidly. Because, drunk or not, John Winchester doesn't cry. "What's going on with you?"

John just shook his head, unwilling to give Dean a straight answer. He brought his hands back to his head, hiding his face from his oldest son.

And that just irked Dean even more.

He folded his arms across his chest. "The least you could do is give me an explanation."

But John remained quiet.

Aggravated, Dean walked over to the motel door, hoping to God he wouldn't see the Impala parked out front. He flung the door open, thankful that the '67 Chevy was nowhere in sight. "At least you had enough sense not to drive," he grumbled as he took his position back in front of his father. "How'd you get back?"

"Took'a cab."

"Oh, so you _can_ talk."

John might've been drunk, but he was with it enough to know when his son was mouthing off, and Dean was suddenly on the receiving end of the infamous "watch it, kid" glare.

Dean brushed it off. He wasn't anywhere close to being finished grilling his father. "Did you gank the Changeling at least?"

No answer.

"Well, did you?!" Dean all but bellowed.

"Yes, I did," John answered finally, struggling to separate his words. "Are you happy now?"

Dean made a noise that was halfway between a snort and sigh. "No, Dad. I'm pretty damn far from happy."

Silence. Hostility.

And then:

"Dean?" Sam's weak voice cut through the tension in the room. And without a second thought, Dean turned his gaze away from his father to focus on Sam.

Sam, who was standing at the doorway of the bathroom, looking pathetic and downright miserable. But at least now he looked _clean_. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, eyes wide as he took in the sight of his father.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked, hastily making his way across the room to where his brother stood. In those brief seconds, Dean forced himself to swallow down the anger he felt towards his father and he replaced it with a calm facade. For Sam's sake.

Dean saw his brother swallow and then nod, but it was clear to Dean that Sam was no longer concerned about his own health. "What's going on with Dad?" he asked, his voice small.

Dean sighed as he steered Sam back to his bed and had him sit down on the edge of the mattress. "That's what I'm trying to figure out," he said, kneeling down in front of his brother so he was eye-level with the kid. "You don't have to worry, okay? I'll handle it."

Sam bobbed his head up and down. "Okay," he whispered.

Dean smiled, glad that after all these years, Sam never hesitated to trust him. "Good." He brushed the damp hair out of Sam's eyes. "How's the stomach?"

Sam swallowed again, his face paling at the question. He lifted a single shoulder up in a shrug. He wouldn't look Dean in the eye.

Dean knew exactly what his brother was up to. "Sam," he warned.

"Not so good," Sam admitted, his voice cracking. He hung his head and sniffed.

"Hey," Dean said lightly, sensing how upset Sam was. "Sammy, look at me."

Sam met his eyes reluctantly, and Dean's heart sank when he saw that Sam's eyes were brimmed with fresh tears.

"I know what you're doin', kid," Dean said. "Don't you dare try to downplay how you're feeling, Sam. Not because of him."

Sam glanced at John - who appeared to have fallen asleep at the table - and then back at Dean. "Okay," he whispered, letting a hand float over his midsection. He let out a shuddering breath that just about broke Dean's heart.

"C'mon," Dean said gently. "Let's get you under the covers."

He eased Sam back into the pillows and pulled the covers up to his waist, but he made sure that Sam remained in the sitting position. He wanted to get him to drink some water before he lay down. Dean held out the water bottle he'd placed on the nightstand while Sam was taking his bath. "Think you can manage some of this?" he asked cautiously.

Sam nodded, and Dean was surprised when he started guzzling the water down quickly. The kid must've been damn dehydrated.

"Whoa, Sam," Dean said, pulling the bottle away when Sam had drunk nearly half of it. "That's enough. You're going to make yourself sick again."

"Sorry," Sam breathed guiltily.

Dean smiled sadly at him and reached up to feel his forehead. "I think your fever's gone down some," he murmured, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. He hadn't liked how hot Sam had been running earlier. "You ready to go back to sleep?"

Sam could only nod, his eyes already starting to droop.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said fondly. He helped his brother scoot down and then pulled the covers up to his chin. "Listen kid, I'm going to help Dad to bed, and then I'll come to bed too, okay? Sam, you wake me if you feel worse, you hear me? The trash can is on the floor right next to you, but if you need help getting to the bathroom or something, you just wake me up. And if you—"

"Okay," Sam interrupted, his cheeks turning a hint of red. The older Sam got, the less he liked being fussed over. But Dean knew Sam appreciated him being there for him. Especially when he whispered a genuine, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean grinned and pushed Sam's bangs out of his eyes one last time. "Get some sleep, barf boy." He patted Sam gently on the stomach and then he stood up, wishing with all his might that he didn't have a drunk father to deal with.

xxx

Wrestling a reluctant, drunk John Winchester into bed is no easy task, Dean learned. His father seemed perfectly content with sleeping at the kitchen table, and in hindsight, Dean probably should've just left him there.

But he worried about his father's bad back and how if he slept in that wooden chair he'd be stiffer than a rail come morning. And as angry as Dean was at his father's recklessness, he just couldn't leave him at that table.

So he woke him up and was forced to half-carry half-drag his rock solid father to bed.

And now Dean was the one with the sore back.

Dean received no explanation. He received no apology. He received no thanks.

xxx

By the time the eldest Winchester son finally crawled in bed, he was spent - emotionally and physically.

He didn't know what was going on with his dad - his _hero_ - and that scared him. And that fear, mixed with his worry and his anger and his disappointment was enough to make Dean feel like he was drowning.

Not to mention the fact that he had a little brother to worry about.

It wasn't until a tear slipped down his cheek that Dean realized he was crying. And without thinking, he reached out and pulled his brother close to him. Because Sam needed to feel safe. Sam needed to feel protected. Sam needed Dean.

Or maybe, just maybe, Dean needed something to cling onto.

The one constant in his life.

Sam.

**TBC****…**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi guys. Quick warning here: Sam is one sick boy in this chapter. So just a heads up for any squeamish folks, this chapter goes into quite a bit of gastrointestinal detail. Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p>Sam inwardly groaned as the digital clock turned from 4:59 to 5:00 am.<p>

He had been lying on his side, awake, for nearly forty minutes now, just staring at the clock as the minutes continued to tick by. All he wanted was to fall back asleep.

Because he _had _been sleeping soundly, with Dean's arm draped around him, pulled in close to his brother's warm body.

But now he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of Dean's arm. He was hot and fidgety and miserable. Not to mention his stomach was giving him trouble again. All sorts of trouble.

So he'd been lying there, just willing the discomfort in his gut to go away.

It was no use.

The pressure continued to build, the nausea continued to grow, and Sam wasn't going to be able to ignore it much longer.

Swallowing thickly, he carefully wiggled out from beneath Dean's arm. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and braced his hands on his knees. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to quell the light-headed feeling that had come over him.

It wasn't working.

Head spinning, Sam pushed himself off the bed and started his trek to the bathroom. He was near certain he was going to be sick, from one end or the other, and he really didn't want to wake Dean if he could help it.

He did his best to follow the beam from the nightlight, but he was so dizzy that walking proved to be a challenge. Halfway there, he stumbled over his own feet, and fell heavily to the floor, too weak to catch himself. He hit the ground with a thud, landing awkwardly on his right hip and elbow.

A light flipped on almost immediately, followed by a panicked "Sam?"

And all Sam could do was moan in response. So much for not waking Dean.

He was by Sam's side in an instant, helping him sit up. "Damnit, Sam, I told you to wake me," Dean growled, in a way that - to an outsider - would have sounded like he was upset with Sam. But Sam knew better. "You hurt?"

"I-I don't know," Sam answered shakily. He was really worked up now, sobs wracking in his chest. And he was starting to panic again, because the discomfort in his gut was becoming a more pressing matter.

Gosh, he felt so sick that he couldn't even speak. Thank God Dean could read his brother's facial cues, because somehow, Sam was able to communicate that he needed the bathroom - and he needed it now - without uttering a single word.

Dean didn't hesitate. In seconds, Sam went from lying on the floor to being scooped up in his big brother's arms. Dean carried him the rest of the way.

Upon entering the bathroom, Dean promptly sat Sam down on the toilet. Sam kept his eyes closed; the room was spinning too much and his lids were too heavy to keep them open. But he could sense Dean in front of him, kneeling, pulling Sam's head into chest to hold him steady while he used both hands to pull Sam's sweats down.

"It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha," Dean soothed, as Sam's body started to release his bowels.

Sam groaned into Dean's chest, fisting the hem of his brother's shirt, as liquid continued to rush out of him. He was feeling weaker by the second.

There were moments of brief solace, where everything stopped, and Sam was able to try and catch his breath. But then it would start up again, making him wonder if this night from hell would ever end.

Luckily, his body only seemed to be revolting from the south end at the present time. But Sam's stomach still ached and he couldn't help but whimper as his efforts brought little relief. "Dean…" he whined. He was beyond the point of caring how pathetic he sounded.

"I know, kid," Dean said softly. "I know. I wish I could make this better." Sam knew his brother would switch places with him if he could.

Vaguely, Sam could feel Dean rubbing soft circles in his back, and he did his best to focus on that instead of his revolting stomach. It was no use. His elbow and hip ached from falling, but that was the least of his worries. His nausea was building dangerously, and eventually he couldn't keep it at bay any longer.

He started to gag.

"Whoa, Sam. Hold on just a sec," Dean said frantically, scrambling to grab the plastic trash bin under the sink. He made sure to keep a hand on Sam's shoulder to prevent him from pitching off the toilet.

Dean had good reflexes, but he wasn't quite able to make it on time. Luckily, Sam's stomach didn't have much left in it, so he only vomited strings of bile. Regardless, that bile dribbled down his front, leaving him feeling more embarrassed and more uncomfortable than ever.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed.

"M'sorry," Sam mumbled, blinking away tears. He was sorry for a lot: mostly for being such a trouble to Dean.

"Not your fault, kid," Dean assured, composing himself. He placed the bin on Sam's lap in case he needed it again.

But, much to Sam's relief, things were starting to slow down. Throwing up had made him feel a lot better; he wasn't nauseated anymore and the room wasn't spinning as much. In addition, his bowels felt drained and Sam didn't think his south end had much, if any, left to expel.

He sat there a moment longer though, just to make sure. Dean was watching him carefully. "I'm okay," Sam whispered finally, when nothing more happened.

Dean managed a forced laugh. "You're anything but okay, Sam." He pushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. "You think you're finished?"

Sam nodded, confident that he was. He handed the bin back to Dean, eager to get off the toilet. His bottom was sore from sitting there so long.

Dean set the bin down and helped Sam out of his soiled sweatshirt. "I'm betting another bath sounds pretty appealing, doesn't it?"

Actually, Sam would have been perfectly content with crawling back into bed and just dying, but he reeked and was sweating all over, and he knew Dean would never let that happen. Especially since they were sharing a bed.

So he nodded, and waited patiently while Dean started the water.

While waiting for the water to fill the tub, Dean grabbed a glass off the counter and filled it with water. "Here, kiddo," he said.

Sam took the water gratefully, using it mostly to rinse his mouth. "Thanks, Dean," he whispered. He handed the glass back. He didn't swallow much, for fear of throwing up again. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this."

Dean shook his head, dismissing Sam's unnecessary apology. "I'm just sorry you're sick," was all Dean said in reply. And for a second, Sam thought he saw tears in his older brother's eyes.

As Dean was helping ease Sam into the tub, a question occurred to the youngest Winchester. "How come _you _never get this sick?" he asked, realizing - with quite a bit of jealousy - just how much better off Dean's immune system was than his.

Dean grinned.

"Because, Sam. I'm Batman."

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean always felt helpless when Sam was sick.

It wasn't a quick fix.

It wasn't a predicament he could smooth-talk his way out of. It wasn't some bully his muscles could scare off. He couldn't drop some advice or tell a simple joke to make this better.

No, when Sam was sick, all Dean could do was stand-by, while whatever was ailing his brother ran its course.

This stomach bug was really kicking Sam's ass too. Dean's normally tough and strong-for-his-size brother was like putty as he allowed Dean to wipe him down with a washcloth. Sam hadn't even bothered to cover himself up - he was too weak. He just lay in the tub, eyes closed, fully exposed.

"Dean," Sam croaked. "Don't look, okay?"

Dean swallowed back a lump in his throat. "I won't, Sammy, I promise."

Dean's palm cushioned Sam's head against the tile, while he used his other hand to scrub down his fragile body. He kept his eyes trained on Sam's face, making good on his promise. If Sam didn't want him to look, he wouldn't look. Even if he had seen it all before. Dean had been Sam's primary diaper-changer, after all.

"You doin' okay, Squirt?" Dean asked, after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, opening his eyes to look at Dean. "Are you?"

Dean wasn't surprised by Sam's question. It was a typical Sam Winchester move: showing concern for Dean when it was obvious he was the one who deserved all the attention. It was one of the many reasons Dean was willing to give up everything for the kid.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm good," came the answer, even though it was complete bullshit. Dean was never okay when Sam was sick. "I'm not the one spewing my guts out," he reminded his brother.

"I know," Sam whispered, his eyes closing again. "I was just checking."

And Dean's heart broke into a million pieces.

xxx

_"__Dean, are you in love with Michelle?__"_

That had been the question Sam asked a couple of days ago over dinner.

Dean had laughed lightly, explaining to Sam that it was too soon to tell. But he did like her a whole lot.

Maybe it was because he was sixteen and young and his hormones were raging, but Dean was pretty sure Michelle was the coolest girl he'd ever met.

For one, she was beautiful. Wavy blonde hair that hung down beyond her shoulder blades, deep blue eyes accentuated by long lashes, high cheek bones, dazzling smile… the list went on and on.

But it was more than that. She was down-to-earth, sweet as pie, witty, and fun. She and Dean could banter back and forth for an eternity, it seemed. When Dean was with her, it felt natural. Simple.

She was also well-traveled. Her parents were rather unconventional - they lived out of a mobile home, traveling the country while also making sure their daughter got the education and high school experience they thought she deserved. When Dean told Michelle that the longest he'd ever stayed in one spot was three months, he was surprised to find they had that in common.

It was different with Michelle than with previous girls.

They both had the same intentions. They both went into the relationship knowing it wouldn't - _couldn__'__t_ - be long-term. Normally it was only Dean who had that knowledge.

This time, it was a two-way street.

Something clicked between them. And maybe that was why they'd been spending every possible moment with each other.

Dean had even asked her to the school _dance_. Bought the tickets and everything. The winter formal. "Frozen in Time," they were calling it.

Because the plan was to stay in Madison through the holidays, so why the hell not?

Before Michelle, Dean would have scoffed at the idea of a dance. The words _lame_ and _ordinary_ and _cliche _would have rolled off his tongue in a heartbeat. With Michelle, the idea of a dance brought different words to mind: exciting, new, _fun_.

Dean hadn't told Sam or John about the dance yet.

But he was looking forward to it more than he would ever dare to admit.

xxx

When Sam finished with his bath, Dean pulled him out of the tub and immediately wrapped him in a towel. Sam was shivering and his teeth were chattering and he was very unsteady on his feet. Dean had him sit down on the toilet seat while he helped him into yet another set of fresh clothes.

It was during all of this that Dean realized how little of Sam he'd seen lately.

Michelle had been taking over all of his time without Dean being cognizant of it. Until now.

Dean swallowed hard as the realization hit. He usually made it a priority to be there for Sam; to make this moving from town to town seem a little better for the kid. Because Sam wasn't the best at making friends. He was shy and smarter than most kids his age and he was skinny as a rail. He met all the criteria for being some wise-ass punk's punching bag. It didn't help that he was _always_ fresh meat.

Dean didn't mind it as much - the moving around. It was easier for him because he was always accepted by his peers. He had the charming good looks, the charisma, the too-cool-for-school attitude.

Dean felt a pang of guilt as he realized Sam had mostly been on his own during their time in Madison. Sure, they occasionally ate dinner together and they trained and sparred together… but that was really the extent of it. Dean just hoped Sam didn't resent him for his absence of late. Especially since John hadn't been around much either - he'd been obsessed with ganking the damn Changeling the entire time.

"Ready to get some more sleep, Sam?" Dean asked once his brother was dried and clothed.

Sam nodded vaguely, eyes drooping.

"Your stomach still intact?"

Another nod.

"Think you can manage some water?"

Sam looked at Dean through his mop of damp hair. "I'm not sure," he answered, his voice shaking slightly. "I-I don't want to be sick again."

Dean didn't want that either, but he also didn't want the kid to get dehydrated.

"Just half a glass," Dean compromised, standing up to fill the cup at the sink. "Okay?"

"Okay," Sam whispered.

Under Dean's watchful eye, Sam carefully drank the water, sip by sip.

"Good, Sammy, you're doin' great, kiddo," Dean coached. He hated how Sam's face was contorted with fresh waves of nausea as he struggled to keep the water down. Dean had the trash bin ready, but he prayed it wouldn't come to that. The kid had been through enough torture tonight.

When the glass had finally been drained, Sam handed the cup back to Dean, smiling slightly at his victory.

"Knew you could do it," Dean congratulated.

"Yeah, it's the little things," Sam deadpanned.

Dean snorted softly. "C'mon. Let's get you back to bed."

xxx

Dean went back to bed, but he didn't go back asleep. He dozed at best.

Sam had been tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable again, until Dean sat up and started rubbing his back. He just wanted the kid to sleep.

He felt Sam's muscles ease under his hand. "That's it, Sammy," he whispered. "Just relax."

Dean didn't stop rubbing Sam's back, even after he was sure he was asleep. Dean listened to the soft snores from his father in the bed next to him and the light breathing of his sick little brother.

And he felt oddly at peace.

xxx

It was 8:30 when Dean woke from his doze.

He opened a bleary eye to his father shaking his shoulder lightly. "What?" he grunted.

"You're gonna hurt your neck, sleeping like that," John whispered.

Dean blinked. He was still sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, neck lolled to one side. He straightened up, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "What's goin' on?" he asked, glad to see that his father had sobered up.

"We need to talk," John said gruffly.

Dean nodded. Yes they did. "Okay," he said softly, glancing at Sam who was still sleeping soundly. "But not here."

John was already one step ahead. He dropped Dean's jacket into his lap. "C'mon."

Carefully, Dean got out of bed being careful not to wake Sam. Then he slipped on his boots and followed John out the motel door, drawing in a deep breath as the cold December air hit his face. He shrugged on his jacket, watching as John paced in front of him.

"All right, so talk," Dean said, folding his arms across his chest.

John stopped pacing to face Dean. He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, for starters, I'm sorry about last night, Dean. Really, I am."

"Mmhmm," Dean hummed, because he'd been expecting that. The trouble was, empty apologies from John were starting to get a little old. "You can say you're sorry all you want, Dad. But you still have some explaining to do. You were hunting a Changeling for cryin' out loud. I thought you… you could've—"

"I know," John interrupted, hanging his head. "I know."

"You know, Dad, you always tell Sammy and me that we need to be responsible. Look out for one another. But we're not the ones I'm worried about. You're the one who's irresponsible and and needs a damn babysitter."

Dean was glaring at his father now. The anger from last night had returned, and it was building in his veins.

And there were tears in his father's eyes again, but Dean wasn't about to feel bad for making him cry. He deserved it. He deserved every last bit of it.

"So let me hear it, Dad," he pressed on. "Give me an explanation."

There was a moment of dead silence between them, and Dean suddenly realized he didn't want to hear what his father had to say. There was absolutely no reason for coming home as drunk as he had. There was no reason for worrying his kids sick so he could go on a bender. Dean couldn't think of a single thing his father could say to make him forgive him.

"Lou is dead."

Except for maybe that.

**TBC...**

* * *

><p>AN: Lou will be explained in the coming chapters. He's an OC, but will play a very minor role in the story because, well, he's dead. Poor Lou. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

"Sammy?" Dean's voice drifted into Sam's conscious, and he felt a cold hand pressed against his forehead. "Can you wake up for me, kiddo?"

Sam didn't want to open his eyes, though. His eyelids were heavy and his body ached and he knew that opening his eyes would mean he had to face the day.

Sam couldn't help the moan that escaped through his lips as Dean started running hid hands through his hair. It felt so good. "Come on, Sam," Dean coaxed gently.

And because Sam would do anything for Dean, he gave in. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning as the light seared into his skull.

"Mornin', Princess," Dean said.

Sam blinked as Dean's face came into focus. He was hovering over Sam, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Mornin'," Sam responded hoarsely. He pushed himself into the the sitting position, hating how much energy he needed to complete such a simple task.

"How're you feelin'?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed. "Tired," he answered honestly, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "What's goin' on?" He looked around the room, realizing that everything had been packed up. "Where's all our stuff? Where's Dad?"

"Whoa, one question at a time," Dean said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I feel like I'm being interrogated here."

Sam clamped his mouth shut, waiting patiently for answers.

"Dad's outside packing up the Impala," Dean told him. "We - uh - we have to leave, Sammy."

"Right now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, real soon. I'm sorry, dude. I let you sleep as long as I could."

"But why do we have to leave? We're supposed to be staying here through the holidays! Dad _promised_." Sam should've known better than to believe a word that came out of his father's mouth.

"I know, Sam," Dean said calmly, though his voice wavered slightly. "Something came up."

Sam tilted his head, trying to read Dean's face. His eyes were brimmed with unshed tears. "What? What's going on?"

Dean let out a deep breath. "You know Dad's cousin? Lou?"

Sam nodded, eyebrows furrowing as he waited for Dean to get to the point.

"He was killed last night."

xxx

After the passing of Mary, John Winchester ended all of his relationships. It was the best way to keep them safe. He fell off the radar - lost contact with all previous friends and family. He burned every bridge.

Except for one.

He still kept in touch with Lou.

The most Sam knew about Cousin Lou came from stories his dad would tell, about when he was a kid.

John and Lou grew up together. They lived in the same town, just outside of Normal, Illinois.

John was two years older and he had always been fiercely protective of Lou. Lou's parents weren't always around; they were in the business industry, and they traveled a lot. Many times, Lou would stay at John's place for up to weeks at a time.

As a result, the pair grew very close. John showed him the ropes, watched out for him, hell - he'd do anything for the guy. When John spoke of Lou, he talked with a sense of admiration and pride.

The same way Dean did of Sam.

When John returned from the Vietnam War, he was not surprised to find that Lou had started a family. He'd gone off to school at Kansas University where he met a lovely girl named Janine. Shortly after graduating, he'd moved to Lawrence for good, got hitched, and already had twins on the way.

Since nothing was keeping John in Normal, he moved to Lawrence to be closer to Lou. There, he fell in madly in love with a blonde looker named Mary… and the rest was history.

Six years and two beautiful sons later, Mary was killed, and the apple-pie life John had become accustomed to was pulled out from under his feet. John learned what was really out there - how much _evil_ there was in the world - and his ex-marine nature had him reeling for revenge and justice.

Lou begged him not to go after Mary's killer. He tried to reason with John, reminding him he still had two young boys to look after and raise. But John couldn't just surrender like that. It wasn't in him. He was already in too deep.

So Lou let him go.

And John hadn't seem him since.

But he would call. Calling was safer than meeting in person, when every evil sonuvabitch had its eye on you and the people you love.

Every holiday. Every birthday. Every time John wanted to hear the man's voice, he'd call. And they'd talk and they'd laugh and John would almost turn into a different man - the man he used to be.

If only for a while.

xxx

"So we're going back to Lawrence?" Sam whispered, once the news set in. His heart ached for his father - no wonder he'd returned last night smelling like a brewery.

But Dean shook his head. "Dad's going back," he said softly. "We're not. He's taking us to Bobby's first."

"Why aren't we going with him?" Sam didn't want to be apart from his father. For one, it was the holidays. And two, Sam knew how much Lou had meant to John and he was afraid his emotions might get the better of him. "He shouldn't go alone."

Dean sighed. "Sam, Lou didn't just pass away in his sleep or something; he was _killed_. Dad says there've been a lot of killings in Lawrence lately. Brutal killings."

Sam's eyes widened. "He thinks something supernatural is going on?"

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely. He let out a wavering breath. "He thinks maybe… he thinks it might even have something to do with…"

"With what killed Mom?" Sam finished softly.

Dean nodded.

"Well then he _really _shouldn't be going back there alone!" Sam exclaimed, in spite of himself.

"He won't be alone, Sam," Dean assured. "There are already plenty of hunters in Lawrence looking into the killings."

"But—"

"No buts, Sam," Dean interrupted firmly, his voice taking a rare form of superiority over his brother. "It's too dangerous. Dad gave us an order and we're going to stay with Bobby like he said."

Sam swallowed hard. "Okay," he relented, but he didn't like it.

"Good," Dean said, satisfied. Then he softened his voice. "Now c'mon, kiddo. You need to hit the head and get dressed. Dad's about ready to go."

xxx

"You doin' okay, Sam?" John asked from across the table, looking up from his journal to study his son's gray face.

They were sitting at a diner, just outside of Madison.

John and Dean were hungry and had decided to stop for some grub. Sam, on the other hand, still didn't even want to _think_ about food. The smells from brunch being cooked up were enough to get his stomach rolling again.

"Yessir," Sam lied, a hand hovering over his midsection. His stomach still felt uneasy, but he didn't want his father to be worried about him when heaven knows he had enough on his mind.

"You gonna get anything to eat?" Dean asked, nudging Sam with his elbow. "Some toast, maybe?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah, okay," he said unsurely. He supposed toast was harmless enough.

Once the waitress had taken their orders, John went right back to studying his journal. As they sat in silence, Sam started having trouble keeping his head up. It took a lot of willpower not to nod off to sleep.

Dean, of course, noticed. He hooked an arm around Sam and pulled him close. "Go ahead and close your eyes, Sammy. I'll wake you up when the food comes."

And that was all the persuading Sam needed. He drifted off into oblivion, feeling the soft vibration of of Dean's voice as he and John exchanged theories about what was going on in Lawrence.

**TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean gazed out the window at the Minnesota scenery whipping past. It was snowing lightly outside, the ground turning to speckled patches of white.

He'd opted for the backseat with Sam instead of taking shotgun like he did so often these days. Sam was still feeling lousy, that much Dean could tell, and he wasn't about to leave his side. Dean hoped the weather wouldn't slow them down. He didn't want Sam in the car any longer than he had to be.

The kid was fast asleep, his head resting in Dean's lap. He was still small enough that he could lay completely stretched out in the backseat of the Impala - something Dean hadn't been able to do for ages now.

Dean ran a gentle hand through Sam's mop of hair, not pleased with how warm he still was. Dean felt so badly for him. It was bad enough being sick to your stomach, but being sick to your stomach and having to ride in a car for seven hours? Dean couldn't imagine.

He just hoped Sam would stay asleep for the majority of the car ride. But if and when he woke up, Dean was prepared.

He had his dad to thank for that.

That morning, when John had taken a cab to go pick up the Impala from the bar, he'd made a few stops on the way back. He'd picked up some ginger ale and bottled water and saltines and liquid tylenol and even a brand new thermometer to replace the one that had shattered a while back. All of that was sitting in a bag at Dean's feet.

The car was silent. John's eyes were fixated on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. No music was coming from the cassette player. The only sound heard was the purr from the Impala as it sped over the asphalt at maximum speed.

Dean would catch his dad glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure Sam was still sleeping. Dean had to give him credit - the man had gone above and beyond to make Sam comfortable despite dealing with grief of unsurmountable measure. That's why Sam was wrapped snuggly with a brand new fleece blanket. That's why a plush pillow lay in Dean's lap for Sam to rest his head on.

"Dean, how's he doin'?" John's quiet voice floated through the quiet car.

"Still asleep," Dean answered softly. "Hasn't moved a muscle."

He met his father's eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror. "You should try and get some sleep too, son," the older hunter said. "I know you didn't get much shut-eye last night."

"Yessir."

Dean leaned his cheek against the cool window and closed his eyes to humor his father, but he wasn't very optimistic about getting any sleep. He was incredibly restless and he knew oblivion wouldn't come easily.

Maybe it was because they'd left Madison, and Dean knew he was really going to miss that place. He'd liked it there. He'd liked the city and the people and especially the cheese. But most of all he'd liked Michelle.

She was perfect and lovely and they'd up and left without Dean getting the chance to say goodbye.

That's what Dean did. He went from town to town, breaking hearts. Only this time, his heart was a little broken too.

But that was the kind of sacrifice he had to make for his family. And normally he didn't think twice about it . He knew that was how it went. His dad was a superhero, after all. Life didn't stop for superheroes.

And now, his hero was going back to Lawrence.

Lawrence, where Mary was killed and their house had burned down and their lives had changed forever. Lawrence, the place Dean had promised himself he'd never go back to. The place that scared him the most.

Maybe _that _was the cause of his anxiousness.

It didn't help that he was holding a sick little brother in his arms.

xxx

Despite everything on his mind, Dean was able to drift in and out of sleep for an hour or so.

But he was pulled from his doze a while later to the sound of his dad grumbling to himself. "A little snow and everybody forgets how to drive. Great, just great."

Dean wiped a lazy hand across his face and opened his eyes. The Impala's high speed had been reduced to a slow crawl. Snow was falling heavily from the sky and sticking to the road. A lot could change in one hour.

"Looks like we drove ourselves into a storm," John said quietly, noticing Dean was awake.

"Looks like," Dean agreed.

Sam stirred when Dean spoke and pushed against him to sit up. "Are we there?" he asked hoarsely, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"No, kiddo, we're only about halfway," Dean told him. "We hit some snow."

"And some traffic," John added. "How're you doin' back there, Sam?"

Dean saw his brother swallow as he considered the question. "I'm okay," he answered, but Dean wasn't convinced. Sam was shivering something awful despite being bundled up in the fleece blanket. And the pallor of his skin still resembled that of a zombie.

"Dean, check his temp," John instructed, probably noticing how off-color Sam was.

"Yessir." Dean reached down into the bag at his feet. He opened the packaging to the new thermometer before handing it over to Sam. "You heard the man."

Sam obediently stuck the thermometer under his tongue. He leaned his cheek against Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes while they waited the required three minutes.

"It looks like… 102.7," Dean reported, giving his best reading of the thermometer when the time was up. He nudged Sam gently in the ribs. "Okay my ass."

Sam smiled meekly and shrugged.

"Think you can handle some Tylenol?" Dean asked, hoping to bring the kid's fever down. "Dad picked some up for you."

"It's the liquid stuff, Sam," John told him. "So it should go down pretty easily."

Sam swallowed. "I-I don't know…" he said softly, unconsciously wrapping his arms around his middle.

Dean licked his lips. "You still feelin' queasy?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. The look on Sam's face was clue enough. "The toast isn't sittin' too good, huh?"

Sam shook his head, looking down at his hands in shame.

"Dean, he needs to try the Tylenol," John said with authority, making firm eye contact with Dean in the mirror. "That fever's too high."

Sam glanced back up at Dean pleadingly.

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Squirt. But I'm with Dad on this one."

He hated forcing Sam to do something he didn't want to do, but John was right. If his fever climbed any higher, Sam would just feel worse. They had to try. Dean reached down into the bag and pulled out the medicine. He also grabbed a can of ginger ale.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Dean said. "You're gonna take this" - he held up the Tylenol - "and then you're gonna chase it with a few sips of this" - he held up ginger ale. "Ginger ale's real good at settling your stomach." He smiled reassuringly at his brother. "Okay?"

Sam didn't look particularly thrilled, but he nodded.

At Sam's consent, Dean measured out the correct dosage and handed the small cup to his brother. "Bottom's up," he said.

Sam reluctantly brought the cup to his mouth and hesitated before downing it in one swig.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean praised, taking the cup from him and replacing it with the can of opened ginger ale. "Just a few sips, kid."

Sam nodded vaguely, bringing the can up to his mouth with a trembling hand. He managed three tentative sips before handing it back to Dean, shaking his head. "It's not gonna stay down," he said weakly, a hint of panic in his voice. He gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe through the nausea he was experiencing. "Dean, I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Okay, okay," Dean said as calmly as he could manage. "Dad?"

"Dean, I'm not able to pull over with all this traffic," John said, a frustrated edge in his voice. "Give Sam the bag from the store. He can use that."

"Yessir," Dean said, promptly dumping the water bottles and remaining ginger ale out of the bag. "Here you go, Sammy. It's okay." He helped Sam lean over the bag, rubbing the kid's back while he tried to fight the impending revolt.

John remained quiet, his jaw set. He kept his eyes trained on the road, not daring to look back at Sam.

Sam didn't have much in his stomach, so when he finally gave in to the nausea and vomited into the plastic bag, it was quick and meager before his body resorted to dry heaves. Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as he tried to regain control.

When he had, he was left panting and crying and miserable. "M'sorry," he mumbled, turning his head into Dean's chest.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said firmly, hating that the kid was apologizing for something he couldn't control. He also hated that the kid was crying. Sam in distress was Dean's worst nightmare.

Dean hooked an arm around his brother in an attempt to calm him down.

But Sam wasn't calming down. Dean could feel tears seeping through his shirt as he continued to cry. With how high his fever was, and his revolting stomach, and being cooped up in the car… Dean couldn't help but understand the anguish his brother was feeling. He wished with all his might that he could switch places with him.

"Dad, he's pretty worked up," Dean said. "I think—"

"We'll stop at the next exit," John interrupted, his voice clipped. Dean knew a sick kid was the last thing his dad wanted to deal with right now. At least he wasn't telling Sam to _man up _or something completely insensitive. He was notorious for pulling macho crap like that.

Even if Sam hadn't been so worked up, Dean figured it was a good time to take a break anyway. They could use the restrooms and the two with healthy stomachs could grab something to eat. Maybe the traffic and snow would be cleared up by the time they hit the road again.

As Dean held Sam close to him, he prayed an exit would turn up soon.

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

"Sam, you need any help?" Dean's voice carried through the stall door.

Sam was sitting on the lid of toilet of the fast-food joint, more for the sake of privacy than anything else. He'd hoped Dean hadn't followed him. Sam let out an audible sigh. "No, I'm fine."

"All right," Dean said, but he didn't sound too sure. "Just holler if you need—"

"I said I'm fine, Dean!" Sam snapped.

There was a lingering silence and then heavy footsteps faded away, followed by a gentle close of the bathroom door.

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle, hoping some pressure would alleviate some of the discomfort there.

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh towards Dean, but he really felt like he needed some time to himself. For one, he was embarrassed about the spectacle in the car. It was bad enough getting sick in front of his father, but crying in front of him? Sam wished he could hide out in this grimy bathroom stall forever.

He didn't know what had come over him. He had settled down now, but before he just couldn't stop crying. And that horrified him, because he was way too old for that shit.

He was just so tired. Tired of being sick and tired of the Winchester bad luck.

All he had wanted was _one _normal Christmas. One Christmas that didn't suck out loud.

He should've known better.

Sam couldn't blame his father. He understood why they had to leave Madison. This time, it wasn't his father's fault.

In fact, Sam's heart was broken for his father. His dad was a closed book, but even Sam knew that Lou's death was tearing him apart on the inside. Showing up plastered the night before was clue enough.

And of course, to make things worse, Sam was sick to top it all off. Like his dad needed any more grief. And Dean too… Sam knew he was upset about leaving Madison. Upset about leaving Michelle.

Sam sighed heavily, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Being the youngest, and admittedly, the more reluctant son to his family's lifestyle, Sam often times felt like he was a burden. But he was pretty sure this time took the cake.

He sat on the toilet seat a moment longer, letting the stillness and silence sink in.

Then, he figured, since he was in the bathroom stall anyway, he might as well relieve himself. He pulled his pants down around his ankles and went about his business, opting to remain sitting down because standing up was less then appealing.

xxx

Sam emerged from the bathroom several moments later, after he'd splashed some cool water on his face and marveled at his unsalvageable hideousness from being ill in the mirror.

He spotted Dean immediately, surprised to find him on the pay phone that was located in the same hallway as the restrooms. Dean seemed to be in a deep conversation with the person on the other line.

Sam approached him carefully, head fuzzy from the fever he was running. Who could he be talking to?

"No, ma'am, I haven't seen her since school yesterday," Dean was saying, and Sam noticed a slight shake in his voice. "That's why I was calling. I didn't get a chance to—"

Dean trailed off, listening intently to what was being said on the other end.

"She didn't?"

Dean swallowed hard, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Dean raised a finger to silence him.

"Yes, ma'am." Another pause. "I will. Okay. Bye."

Dean ended the conversation and brought the receiver into his chest. He was white as a ghost, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked timidly. It didn't take a detective to figure out that something was wrong.

Dean hung up the phone with a shaky hand. He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before answering.

"Michelle is missing."

xxx

"She's been missing since when?" John inquired. Dean had filled him in on what was going on back in Madison.

They were back on the road now. Traffic had thinned out and the snow had let up some, so they were _almost_ back up to maximum speed.

"Yesterday after school," Dean answered, gazing out the window. "She told me it was her mom's birthday and she would be doin' family stuff. But she told her parents she was going to be with me." Dean sighed. "It wasn't even her mom's birthday yesterday."

"Sounds like Michelle had this disappearing act planned then," John said.

Dean didn't seem comforted by that.

"Hey, that's a good thing," John insisted, meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "That means she probably wasn't taken. That means she's probably okay."

Dean nodded vaguely. "Yeah," he agreed hoarsely.

Sam frowned as Dean leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He looked so disheartened.

"I know you wish you could be back in Madison, son," John said. "If we had left for any reason other than Lou…" He broke off and cleared his throat gruffly before continuing. "I promise you, we'd be on our way back there right now."

"I know, Dad," Dean said softly, letting his eyes close. "It's okay."

John's gaze lingered on his oldest a moment longer before he reached up to move the mirror so he could focus his attention on his youngest son. "You look tired, Sam," he said, giving the kid a once-over. "You should try to sleep."

Sam nodded. He _was _tired, and sleep was calling out to him.

He leaned his head against the opposite window, not wanting to bother Dean. He pulled the fleece over his body, trying to get comfortable.

"Sam…" Dean's voice interrupted his efforts.

He lifted his head to find Dean reaching out to him.

"C'mere, you moron," he said, grasping Sam's arm and pulling him towards him. "You'll be more comfortable if you're horizontal." He set the pillow back in his lap and helped Sam lie down. He shifted the blanket so it was laying over Sam's form completely.

Sam felt instantly warm. Not from the heat blasting up front, nor from the blanket or plush pillow, but from the heat of his brother's body. It was the soft words and the soothing hand, rubbing his chest, that pushed Sam over the edge and into oblivion.

"Get some sleep, runt. We'll be at Bobby's before you know it."

**TBC...**


	8. Chapter 8

Dread.

Overwhelming anxiety and unease.

That's what he was experiencing.

Learning about Michelle's disappearance was just too much for Dean. His brain was going into overdrive, desperately trying to come up with some logical explanation. Some explanation that didn't warrant the silent freak-out he was currently having.

He kept coming up empty.

Michelle was missing, her family was worried sick, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it.

_Sounds like Michelle had this disappearing act planned then_. John's words echoed in his head.

But that couldn't be. Michelle wouldn't just up and leave her family without a trace.

Would she?

Dean tried to think back to the last time he'd seen Michelle. It was an eternity ago, it seemed, but really it was only yesterday afternoon.

_They were eating lunch at the table in the back corner of the cafeteria, just like they always did. Michelle was twirling her hair, leaning in close, while Dean fed her a french fry. She laughed and then popped a grape in his mouth._

"_We__'__re such saps,__" __Michelle said as she chewed._

_Dean snorted. __"__Right. This coming from the same girl who challenges me to burping contests.__" __He rolled his eyes. __"__We__'__re anything but saps.__"_

"_All right, fine. We__'__re periodic saps.__"_

_Dean raised his eyebrows. __"__Periodic saps,__" __he repeated with a grin. __"__I can live with that.__"_

Dean smiled at the memory. Everything had seemed normal with Michelle. She'd apologized about having to spend the evening with her mom… had told Dean that she couldn't wait to see him tomorrow. And it was _genuine_.

So why did she lie about it being her mom's birthday?

_Why?_

He was going to drive himself mad if he didn't stop fretting over something he didn't have any control over.

But he couldn't help it. Where was she? Was she scared? Was she in danger?

Those were the thoughts racing through Dean's brain, the entire remainder of the drive.

xxx

When Bobby's place came into view, Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. The Singer Salvage Yard had always been the closest thing he had to a home and, no matter what burdens Dean was carrying, it always felt good to pull up the gravel drive.

John put the Impala in park in front of the steps leading up to Bobby's humble abode.

"Sammy, we're here," Dean said, giving his brother a gentle shake. The kid had slept the remainder of the way.

"Hmm?" Sam mumbled, eyes opening into reluctant slits.

"We're at Bobby's. Sit up."

Sam obeyed, pushing against the seat with wobbly arms until he was upright.

"Dean, I'll grab the bags from the trunk," John said as he kicked open the car door. "You help Sam inside."

"Yessir." Dean glanced over at his brother. It was dark, so he could only make out the silhouette of Sam's form. His shoulders were sagged and his hands were gripping the edge of the seat tightly. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam bobbed his head up and down.

"You sure?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, I'm fine. I just…" he trailed off, his gaze following John up to the front door where he was greeted by Bobby.

"What, Sam?" Dean prompted.

"I'm just worried about you."

"About _me_?" Dean questioned. "Dude, how do you even have enough strength to be worried about anyone but yourself?" Sam was a fevered, vomiting, exhausted mess. Dean was the poster of health and sanity compared to him.

He had to be.

He did his best to flash Sam his trademark smirk. "Besides, I'm all good."

"Dean, drop the act," Sam said, voice void of any energy. "I can see right through you. You're not okay."

"Sam—"

"I know how much you cared about Michelle," Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. "And you're worried about Dad. I know that too."

Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore the hunk of ice in his gut. _I__'__m also a little worried about you, kiddo._

"So just… don't pretend like everything's 'all good,'" Sam said softly, turning his head toward his brother. "It's okay for you to let your guard down down some. I can handle it. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Could've fooled me," Dean quipped, trying to make light out of this chick-flick moment Sam had thrust upon them.

"Dean, I'm serious."

"All right, I hear you, Samantha," Dean said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Now, are you finally ready to go inside? Because I'm sort of freezing my ass off here." He kicked open the door to the Impala and hopped out, the cold winter air stinging his face.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled as he scooted across the seat to exit the car behind Dean.

Dean bent down to grab the ginger ale and saltines, smiling slightly at Sam's initiation of their trademark exchange. "Make yourself useful and carry these," he said, holding the box of saltines out to Sam. "Bitch."

xxx

Bobby and John had an interesting relationship because Bobby respected him as a man and a hunter, but he was never too pleased with the majority of the choices John made when it came to his children. He was never big on the whole "raising kids to be hunters" lifestyle. And he'd get upset when John would leave Sam and Dean under his watch for weeks at a time. _They need a father_, Bobby would say. _I__'__m not what they need._

But the truth was, Bobby _was _what Sam and Dean needed.

And vice versa.

Dean could always see beyond Bobby's ornery comments and crotchety behavior. The man loved the kids deeply and he would do anything for them. His eyes lit up whenever they stepped foot in the door.

So even though John and Bobby weren't always on the best of terms, Sam and Dean were always welcome in his home.

And it said a lot about the man John thought Bobby was, because he didn't leave his kids with just anybody.

John trusted the man to his very core.

xxx

Bobby insisted that John stay for dinner.

He seemed more compassionate and understanding this go-around, because he knew about the loss John was enduring.

Dinner was quiet.

Sam wasn't up for trying real food yet, so instead, he was nibbling on some saltines and sipping at some water.

The rest were picking at a leftover pot roast. Dean forced himself to eat everything on his plate, but it took him a while. He didn't have much of an appetite.

None of them did.

"I should get going," John said gruffly when everyone was done eating. He slid his chair back and stood up. Bobby stood up with him.

Dean stood too, stomach sinking at the fact that his father was leaving. To go back to _Lawrence _of all places.

John made his way around the table to squeeze Sam's shoulders. "You feel better, Sam," he said gently. "And that's an order."

"I'll try," Sam breathed, a sad smile creeping onto his lips. "Be careful, Dad."

John bent forward to kiss the top Sam's head. "I will be."

Then John hooked an arm around Dean, pulling him in for a crooked hug. "You take good care of your brother." He pecked the top of Dean's head with a quick kiss, then ruffled his hair as he pushed away.

Dean was speechless.

There was no mistaking the glistening tears in John's eyes as he smiled warmly at his sons. "I'll call as often as I can," he promised. "And I'll try my damnedest to be back by Christmas."

Bobby cleared his throat. "I'll see your father off," he said, nudging John towards the door. "You boys make yourselves at home. See if anything good's on TV."

Sam obeyed and went into the TV room to do some channel surfing. Dean went to the front door and watched from the sidelight window as John and Bobby exchanged words over the top of the Impala.

Dean even cracked the front door open a bit so he could hear what they were saying.

"…was going to come through for them this year." That was John, regret and remorse heavy in his voice. "And Sam is sick and Dean… that girl that's missing…"

"For the love of Pete, will you stop feelin' your feelings?" Bobby asked. "Your boys are tough, John. That's the way you raised 'em. They know this is what you gotta do. Lou meant the world to you. Hell, even I'm on board with this one."

When John didn't say anything, Bobby continued.

"Now, quit worryin' about your boys, and focus on keepin' yourself safe. Worryin' won't do them one bit of good if you wind up dead."

Bobby was never one to sugarcoat.

John heaved a sigh. "You're right," he said, tapping the roof of the Impala. "Thanks, Singer. I owe you one."

"_One?_" Bobby repeated, good-naturedly. "I think your debt's a little more than that, Winchester."

"A shitload more," John agreed. He cleared his throat gruffly. "I'll - uh - I'll be in touch."

"Darn-tootin' you will. Now hit the road, Jack."

"Aye, Cpt'n."

With that, John opened the driver's door and slipped in, honking twice before driving away.

Dean retreated into the TV room, settling in next to Sam on the couch. He didn't want Bobby to know he'd been eavesdropping.

When Bobby entered the room, the boys couldn't help but chuckle at the comment that flew out of the older man's mouth.

"Cold as _balls_ out there. Friggin' South Dakota…"

**TBC****…**


End file.
